23
It’s a trick, I know. A monster—maybe a selkie—sent in my sister’s skin to confuse me. As soon as I go to her, I’ll be pulled under the waves and drowned.
I don’t care. I’m willing to take the chance.
I rush into her arms and suddenly we’re both crying, her hands going up and down my back as she assesses the new Edie—taller, stronger—and I take in her familiar scent, something I’ve never been able to pin down. Fur and old books, maybe. It’s so particular to Mavis that I know it’s my sister, not some imposter, and my tears start fresh.
Mavis is alive.
She leads me away from the beach to a cliffside cave where there’s a sleeping bag and supplies.
I wipe my face. “Is this where you’ve been the entire time?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s a long story.”
We sit on the sleeping bag
